


lost in the fog, these hollow hills

by blackkat



Series: KisaZabu Drabbles [3]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Death Fix, Fix-It, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, Presumed Dead, Reunions, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-08-09 21:13:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20123920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: During Akatsuki's impromptu vacation in Ame, Kisame encounters a familiar face, and finds something he'd thought lost along the way.





	lost in the fog, these hollow hills

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Kisame + Akatsuki encounter Haku and Zabuza, Kisame has always had a crush om Zabuza, Akatsuki members see this and start to tease Kisame, Zabuza is just his brilliant self

“I can't _believe_ you blew up our base,” Konan says dangerously.

Seeing the threat level start to rise again, just when he thought they’d avoided it, Kisame gives a sheepish chuckle and very deliberately pushes Konan's plum wine closer to her elbow. “It’ll be fixed soon,” he says, determinedly cheerful. “And it’s a good chance to renovate, isn't it?”

Konan gives him a dark look, but lets him refill her cup without saying anything more.

Across the table, Kakuzu eyes her like she’s a bomb far more dangerous than the one Deidara set off in Sasori’s workshop. Trades glances across the table with Kisame, concerned and wary, and waves at a passing bartender. “Another bottle,” he tells the woman, tipping his head at Konan. “On my tab.”

Proof that it’s bad, Kisame thinks, amused, if Kakuzu is actually offering to shell out a few ryō. Though it’s honestly probably not a great idea to get Konan drunk, seeing as it’s mostly her self-control that’s keeping Sasori and Deidara from being turned into sashimi. If she loses that, Akatsuki might be on the hunt for some new members instead of the bijuu.

Across the room, Deidara, scorched and battered, glares daggers at Sasori, who looks none too pleased to be out of his puppet and in an establishment where the bartender made him show her his scratched hitai-ate before she would let him through the door. Hidan is slouched next to them, halfway to sloshed, but Kisame is quietly certain that the fact that they're asking _Hidan_ to babysit already spells disaster.

From the grimace on Kakuzu’s face as he follows the direction of Kisame's gaze, he agrees.

“_I_ can't believe Pein tossed us out of the caves,” he says to Kisame, quietly enough that Konan won't hear. “He was real fucking distressed about that ugly statue getting cracked, wasn’t he?”

Kisame just shrugs, because Obito didn’t seem all that much happier when he’d dumped the lot of them in Ame to cool their heels. Had seemed quite shaken, even, especially at the loss of Zetsu, who was somewhere on the statue when Sasori and Deidara got into their spat and blew the Mountains’ Graveyard to smithereens.

Quite a way, Kisame reflects, watching Deidara with good humor, to start your first week of work. The kid’s going to have trouble topping this.

“I think _cracked_ is an understatement,” he says, chuckling, and Kakuzu huffs disgustedly, slumping back in his chair. He takes a swig of what he’s drinking—the cheapest liquor possible, Kisame is sure—and waves a hand.

“Whatever,” he says, displeased. “We can still make money, even without a base. I don’t get what the problem is.”

Something they needed the statue for, Kisame is sure, but Obito hadn’t explained that when he’d laid out the plan. Still, if there’s one way to get to their goal, there’s another, too. There always is, and Kisame is confident that they’ll find it.

“Ame’s nice,” he says cheerfully, and when the waiter deposits a bottle in front of him, he generously pours some into Kakuzu’s empty glass before serving himself. Money’s never been his concern, and besides, it’s a habit, learned back when he was first a Swordsman. Zabuza wouldn’t drink anything that wasn’t served to him in a sealed bottle, but he’d take some of Kisame's or Mei's if it was offered. Safer, he claimed, because no one would risk spitting in one of their glasses, no matter their opinions on who a couple of high-caste shinobi were drinking with.

It still makes Kisame a little angry to think about, but it’s an old thing. Something done and over with, if the reports of Zabuza’s death are correct. Dead two years ago, in Wave of all places, and Kisame's not one to believe death carries any weight, doesn’t hold much stock in the idea that a grand death makes up for the fact that you're dead at the end of it, but—it doesn’t seem like the type of place a guy like Zabuza should have gone out. He had big dreams, and drive, and thinking of that snuffed out by a Konoha shinobi and a common crime lord makes Kisame want to wander into Wave, and then maybe Konoha, and see if he can't peel a little skin off in Zabuza’s name.

When he glances up, Kakuzu is staring at him, narrow and sharp. Deliberately, Kisame eases his white-knuckled grip on the bottle, grins. “The good stuff,” he says, and lifts his glass. Kakuzu doesn’t need to know that it’s a toast to a man buried very far away.

Silently, Kakuzu lifts his glass in return, then takes a sip. Savors it, slow and careful, and then sighs, pleased. “Good,” he agrees, because if Kisame's learned one thing about him, it’s that Kakuzu does appreciate life’s finer things, he just denies himself them in favor of saving money. It’s more impressive than just being a skinflint, in Kisame's opinion.

Kisame chuckles lowly, leaning back in his chair with his glass, and toys with the idea of inviting Kakuzu back to the room he’s rented. Kakuzu hasn’t implied any interest, but it’s nice to find someone who looks just as unusual as Kisame does, and for that Kisame might be willing to put himself out there a little more than normal. Besides, Kisame's other choices are really down to Hidan, who’s a little much, and Konan, who’s about ready to start collecting heads right now and not safe to approach, as much as Kisame might try on any other day, tipsy and courageous with it.

Though, he reflects a little wistfully, if he was _really_ feeling brave, he might ask Obito for a tumble, see if he can finally get under that cloak. And—the challenge would be half of it, but sometimes, sometimes, he reminds Kisame of someone else, someone angry and brash and _hurt_ somewhere deep underneath the layers of hate.

It’s not a fair comparison. It wouldn’t work for that reason, either, but it’s an interesting fantasy to entertain every now and then.

“Going to have to set up some sort of office,” Kakuzu mutters, but it’s milder than it was a moment ago, tired more than anything. “Somewhere _away_ from any chance of explosives. I know Pein doesn’t want a paper trail, but not having backups is a bad idea.”

With a touch of regret, Kisame lets go of the idea of approaching Kakuzu. Clearly he’s focused on his work, which is understandable. Kisame should probably be, too, but he’s a little out of sorts. It’s the first time he’s really lost everything physical except his sword, which was thankfully with him when the base blew, and it’s disconcerting.

(That makes him think of Zabuza too, because Zabuza was driven out of Kiri with nothing but his sword and his apprentice, a handful of followers and no way back. He’d never had much to begin with, making it even worse, and Kisame wonders how he felt in those first, difficult days. Wonders, a little guiltily, if he should have brought up recruiting Zabuza, helped him get back on his feet with a place in Akatsuki, but they were always different flavors of idealist, and Zabuza had his dream of being Mizukage. Kisame wasn’t about to take that from him, missing-nin or not.)

“Tobi can probably find a space,” Kisame says, because now that _that_ cat’s out of the bag, they might as well take advantage of it. Obito won't be pleased to play filing system, but Kisame is fairly certain that he’ll do it. He likes Kakuzu, after all. Well, as much as he likes any of the newer members, from what Kisame has been able to wring out of him. That probably means something.

Kakuzu gives him a narrow, assessing look, tugging his mask down a little more where it’s hanging around his neck. “Yeah?” he asks. “Tobi being the brand new asshole who crawled out of the woodwork?”

Kisame grins at him. “Careful,” he says cheerfully. “That asshole is the reason you survived the explosion.” If Obito hadn’t been watching their meeting from the shadows, if he’d been a second slower or decided to just leave them all where they were, there wouldn’t have been any chance to get out alive. He even grabbed Deidara and Sasori, who were right next to the blast, and that knowledge makes something turn over in Kisame's chest.

In the world he’s used to, a leader would have just abandoned their men and started fresh. It’s maybe a sign that this one isn't as terrible as he expected, that Obito didn’t even consider it.

With a sharp, ringing click, Konan sets her cup down. “He’s _short_,” she says, just slightly louder than she probably intends to. “Madara approached us. He was taller. This Madara was _short_.”

Kisame freezes, and on his left Kakuzu blinks. Slowly, carefully, he sets his cup down, then levels a look at Konan and asks, “_Uchiha_ Madara?”

Konan's mouth flattens into a thin, dangerous line. “Yes,” she says precisely. “He was—he was Uchiha Madara and now he’s _not_.” Turning burning amber eyes on Kisame, she leans forward across the table and says, “_That_ was not the Uchiha Madara who recruited us. Kisame, who was he?”

Even tipsy, Konan's a force to be reckoned with, Kisame thinks a little ruefully. “If he says he’s Madara—” he starts.

“Bullshit.” That’s Kakuzu, his mouth pulled down into a thoughtful frown as he eyes Kisame. There's too much speculation in that look for Kisame's peace of mind. “I’ve met Uchiha Madara. Tobi's too short and he has the wrong build. Why’s he pretending to be that shithead?”

Damn. Sometimes Kisame manages to forget that Kakuzu is actually older than all of the rest of them, and that he’s had run-ins with Konoha since there _was_ a Konoha to have a run-in with. He hesitates, trying to decide what to say—

“Let’s go,” Konan says, pushing up from the table with an expression that says anything thinking of getting in her way had better pause for reflection. “I want _answers_. If that’s not Madara, and we’re not _allied_ with Madara, I need—Nagato needs to know. _I_ need to know.”

“It’s not,” Kakuzu says darkly, and rises as well. “Madara couldn’t do that thing with the vortex, either. But if Madara _was_ involved, I think we should know what his plan was, because he was an asshole of the highest order and I don’t want to risk all of our future mission funds on one of his idiot schemes.”

“Now, now,” Kisame starts, raising his hands and getting up to intercept them. An angry, tipsy Konan and a peeved Kakuzu isn't a combination he would wish on anyone, let alone Obito, who’s something like a friend. “It’s getting late, maybe we should just wait until morning.”

Konan glares, and Kakuzu scowls. It’s enough to make Kisame brace for impact, but before either of them can open their mouths, the chime of the door opening draws Kisame's attention. He glances over, sees Konan and Kakuzu do the same—shinobi who lose their instincts when they drink don’t stay shinobi very long, after all. And—

The only reason Kisame recognizes him is because he’s been thinking about Zabuza so much today. The beautiful young man in the doorway doesn’t look all that much like the scrawny street rat who was always half a step behind Zabuza, too small for his careful grace and haunted eyes. Kisame can see the shadows of the kid he knew in the young man, though, from the fall of dark hair caught in a loose tail to the dark choker around his throat. The penchant for women’s kimonos, too, but—it’s flattering on Haku, and Zabuza never seemed to give a damn.

It is Haku, though. Kisame's certain of it, and he has to swallow around the knot in his throat, has to breath through the unsteady lurch in his chest. Haku died in Wave, too, every source Kisame talked to was certain of that. It made sense, too; given Haku's devotion, there was no way he’d have let Zabuza die before him.

“Kisame?” Konan asks, and her eyes flicker from Haku to Kisame and back again, body tensing faintly in expectation of a threat.

Kisame breathes in, breathes out. doesn’t answer, but watches Haku cross the room to the bar with an easy sort of familiarity. The bartender greets him with a smile, one Haku returns, and without fuss she hands him a package wrapped in cloth. Haku takes it, passes money back, and—

He’s about to leave. He’s turning for the door, and Kisame should let him leave, should step back and let Haku continue on, content to know the kid is alive, but—

But.

He steps around Konan, crosses the crowded floor, and makes it to the door about three steps before Haku. Hesitates, trying to find something to say, and curses the words he wants for failing him.

“You’ve grown up even prettier than Zabuza said you would,” he finally settles on.

Just about to pass, Haku stops dead. Turns sharply, eyes widening, and the moment his eyes settle on Kisame all the fight leaves his form. He smiles, bright and full of relief, and says, “Kisame!”

“Hey, kid.” Kisame chuckles, reaching out to pat Haku on the head the way he used to when the shrimp barely came up past his knee. Haku laughs a little, pushing his hand away, and the sweep of his eyes over Kisame's form doesn’t miss the scratched hitai-ate, the bits of scorched fabric, the wear. His expression softens, and even as he clutches his package to his chest, he hesitates.

“You're—you're an Ame nin now?” he asks, and the flicker of his gaze goes to where Konan and Kakuzu are likely right behind Kisame.

Kisame rubs a sheepish hand over his hair. “Not quite,” he says, and tips his head. “There’s work around here, though, and Ame’s the most like Kiri you can get outside of Water Country.”

Just for a moment, something like regret flickers over Haku's face, and his smile slips into something sad. “It is,” he agrees wistfully. “The rain is nice. I missed it, before.”

Kisame's not going to get a better opening. He hesitates, watching Haku's face, and then asks softly, “Are you alone here, Haku?”

For half an instant he thinks Haku is going to lie. That sweet face is good for it—Kisame's seen him twist more people than just Zabuza around his little finger with a few words. But then Haku stops, surveying Kisame closely, and bites his lip.

_Oh_, Kisame thinks, and—maybe that’s hope. Maybe that’s hope and relief and something very close to joy.

“Haku,” he says, keeps his tone gentle despite the new pace of his heart. “I’ve got nothing to do with Kiri anymore.”

Haku watches him for a long, long moment, flicks a glance at his companions. Then, like a surrender, his grip on the bundle he’s carrying loosens, and he takes a breath. “It’s not Kiri we’re keeping away from,” he says, and Kisame swallows hard. Feels that _we_ burn as it settles into his soul, makes it just a little bit easier to breathe.

“Haku,” he starts, and then realizes he has no earthly idea what to say.

Even so, Haku smiles, soft and sweet and gentle. “I'm sure he’d be happy to see you,” he says kindly. Pauses, and laughs a little. “Kisame, I think he’d be happier to see you than anyone else.”

Kisame can't imagine it. Can't even imagine _Zabuza_, despite the proof of his continued existence standing right in front of him. “Can I?” he asks, a little tentatively, and Haku smiles back.

“I'm on my way back right now,” he says, and pushes the door open. “Would you like to come?”

Hesitating, Kisame glances back at Konan and Kakuzu, still firmly planted behind him. Kakuzu looks bored, but then, Kakuzu always looks bored. Konan, though, seems torn between suspicion and interest, and Kisame has a sinking certainty that he’s not going to be able to shake either one of them.

Well. At least tagging along to his reunion with a fellow Swordsman is better than hunting Obito down to shake answers out of him.

“As long as you don’t mind me bringing some friends,” he concedes, and Kakuzu snorts but doesn’t argue with the title.

That seems to make Haku wary, but he checks Kisame's expression, then offers his companions a quick smile as well. “We have the room,” he says, and ducks out into the rain, pulling up his hood as he goes. Kisame follows, not waiting for Kakuzu and Konan, but quickening his pace a little to keep up.

Haku is obviously familiar with Ame; he doesn’t hesitate as he takes a winding path through the village, down neon-splashed streets and dark side-alleys under the shadow of towering metal buildings. The steady beat of the rain turns him into a ghost, a shadow in the dimness, and Kisame feels a little like this is a moment out of one of the old tales his mother used to tell him. A beautiful spirit leading a seeker through a maze, not quite there, with something fiercely desired at the end of the path.

Kisame isn't anywhere near virtuous enough to come through unscathed, if that’s what this is, but he can't find it in himself to care, either. Zabuza is alive, and just the promise of that is enough to turn Kisame's world on its head.

It occurs to him to wonder, belatedly, how it happened. Almost gives him pause, halfway through a tunnel of wrought metal and cables, because everything, _everything_ said that Zabuza was dead and buried in Wave, his sword planted at the head of his grave like it wasn’t one of Kiri's seven most precious treasures. None of Sasori’s spies had been able to say quite what happened, just that Hatake Kakashi, the Copy-Nin, was the man who put Zabuza down, and then Gato’s men finished him off. 

But Zabuza and Haku both survived. Kisame fixes his eyes on the slim figure half-visible through the rain and lengthens his stride, paying no attention to the civilians who bow and whisper at the sight of Konan behind him. Zabuza is at the end of this road, hidden away in Ame’s fluorescent darkness, and all of the time Kisame's spent—not mourning, not quite, but. Zabuza’s been alive.

Zabuza’s been alive this whole time, and Kisame never knew.

The brush of Kakuzu’s cloak against his arm makes him glance to the side, half a second before he jerks his gaze back to Haku. A moment later, Konan slips up on his left, the rain already soaking her blue hair. They trade glances around Kisame's body, and then, carefully casual, Konan asks, “Someone you know?”

“From Kiri,” Kisame says, though that’s likely obvious. Doesn’t know what else to add, because there are too many things, and besides, Haku is turning down another street lit only by the ambient glow of the village’s lights. “A friend of mine raised him.”

Another pause, careful. This time, it’s Kakuzu who snorts, “Good friend?” he asks dryly. “When you saw her, you looked like someone punched you in the face.”

“Him,” Kisame corrects, but his attention is on Haku, who’s paused halfway down the street, in front of a narrow, teetering building, dark except for a light on the second floor. The door opens easily under his hand, and he turns to smile at Kisame.

“It looks like he’s still awake,” Haku says, and pushes inside. “Please, come in. I can take your cloaks.”

The interior is as dark as the street outside, but neat. There are signs of a long-term occupation, little knickknacks and books and a basket of mending by the window, herbs hanging in bundles along the walls. A familiar blade is set on a stand, carefully polished, and the sight of it eases some of the knot in Kisame's chest. Zabuza still has Kubikiribōchō. Somehow, that makes everything else feel all right.

And then, above them, there's a voice. “Haku?” he says, and the tone is sharp, irritated, a perfect cover for the concern. A footfall sounds, just one, but it’s heavier than Kisame would have expected, not the perfect noiselessness that Zabuza was always so brilliant at. Feeling like his heart is lodged somewhere in his throat, Kisame turns to the stairs, watches the flicker of a shadow on the wall resolve itself half an instant before Haku flicks on the lights.

“I'm here,” Haku says. “And I met someone at the bar.”

A pause, and then another footfall. And then Zabuza appears on the stairs, looking down at them.

He’s—Kisame has to swallow, even as his feet carry him a step forward. He’s precisely like Kisame remembers, all sharp angles and narrow eyes and hostility just barely tempered by aloofness, right up until his gaze lands on Kisame. Then his eyes widen sharply, and he sways like he’s going to take a step back but stops himself just in time.

There are new scars, Kisame can see. Dozens of them, stark enough even two years after he must have gotten them that it’s a wonder he survived. But his gaze—that’s just as sharp as Kisame remembers.

“Zabuza,” he says, and it’s a miracle he doesn’t choke on the name.

Zabuza’s lips part, but for a long, endless moment he just stares. Takes a breath, and then says, “Kisame. Fuck. What the hell are you doing in Ame?”

“I think that’s my question,” Kisame jokes, but he crosses to the foot of the stairs, reaches up and out. Zabuza’s favoring one leg, standing set but not quite even, and his gaze flickers to Kisame's face, then back to his hand before he makes a sound of rough amusement. Puts his hands in Kisame's, and Kisame waits until he’s stepped down the next two stairs into reach before he sweeps him up in a hug, pulls him right off his feet with a joyful laugh. There's a cut-off sound of surprise, then a laugh in return, and Zabuza hooks his arms around Kisame's neck, clutches him close with a strength that’s no less than Kisame remembers.

“You idiot,” Zabuza breathes in his ear. “What the hell are you doing? The regime in Kiri changed, why didn’t you just go back? Mei's got a good head on her shoulders, she wouldn’t—”

“It’s been a long time,” Kisame interrupts gently, and pulls back enough to see Zabuza’s face. Not scarred, perfectly familiar in its angular sort of handsomeness, and he grins, feeling something bubble up through his veins like a rising swell. “You're looking good, Zabuza. You and Haku both.”

“Especially for dead men?” Zabuza’s snort is sardonic. “A Konoha nin saved us. Grabbed our bodies before they could be buried when she realized we weren’t dead, and left clones.”

She. Not the Copy-Nin, then, and that makes Kisame feel a little better about letting Itachi go after the man. Not that he’s ever been able to rein Itachi in before. “A Konoha nin?” He chuckles, tightening his grip on the lean, defined muscle of Zabuza’s back. He’s as thin as ever; Kisame's never seen him put on weight well in the best of circumstances. “I'm not sure if that’s surprising or not.”

It makes Zabuza laugh, just a little. “Yeah,” he agrees, and there’s something tired on his face, soul-deep. “Shizune’s the reason we made it. Not sure if I want to thank her for it or strangle her.”

Shizune. Not a name Kisame knows, but one he’s going to remember. She might never know it, but Kisame owes her a debt that he’s never going to forget. Letting out a low breath, he leans forward, resting his forehead against Zabuza’s, and says softly, “I'm glad she found you.”

Zabuza’s expression twists, and his fingers tighten on Kisame's shoulders. “Yeah,” he agrees, a confession, and closes his eyes. Kisame watches the sharp planes of his face, remembering all too clearly every single thing he’s ever felt for this brash, angry man, and it almost makes him want to tip his head, close the last few inches between them, but Zabuza’s never shown an interest in anyone, never even looked twice at Kisame—

“Oh,” Konan says, perfectly, deeply amused. “_Friends_.”

Kakuzu snickers, pulling his mask down again. “You could have just said he was an old fuck,” he says, pointed. “You think we were going to judge your taste?”

Konan hums. “Because a man with a child seems like a catch compared to the people you normally moon over.”

Kisame's going to murder both of them, and for once he won't regret killing comrades for even a _moment_.

Pulling back, Zabuza levels a flat look over Kisame's shoulder. “Yours?” he asks Kisame, and that tone is entirely unimpressed.

Kisame gives him a sheepish smile. “I forgot they tagged along,” he says.

“Escorted you,” Kakuzu corrects, folding his arms over his chest. The bastard is smirking. “We have to make sure our swordsman isn't getting in over his head just because he’s got hearts in his eyes, right?”

Even Haku is giggling. Kisame is beset from all sides. He levels a wounded look at Haku, because he at least expected better from _him_, but Haku just beams.

There's a quiet snort, and Zabuza tips his head. “It’s not like that,” he says, but—

It sounds like there's a trace of bitterness in his voice, and something in Kisame's chest shudders to a sharp, bewildered halt.

“It’s not?” Konan raises a brow, and that’s her _are you really going to disagree with me_ tone, but of course it doesn’t deter Zabuza. Zabuza grew up with _Mei_, and she’s just as scary as Konan.

“No,” Zabuza says, and hitches a thumb at Kisame. “I spent pretty much my entire Kiri throwing myself at the idiot, so I can say that for a fact.”

He’s not lying. He’s not; Kisame can see as much on his face, in the wry twist of his lips, rueful and amused, as he raises his gaze to Kisame's again. But—it makes no sense, because Kisame remembers _all_ of their time together, before he was a Swordsman and after. Zabuza was the next most recent member, became the one to drag Kisame along in his wake and show him the ropes, and they spent most of their time together. If Zabuza had ever said anything, made any indication, Kisame would have pinned him to the nearest sturdy surface with no care for propriety. He _wanted_, every day, every _moment_, but—

“_Oh_,” Konan says, and she sounds devilishly delighted. “Kisame, you failed to notice _him_ trying to get in your uniform?” Her gaze flickers over Zabuza, mouth curling in an approving smirk, and there’s definite unholy humor in her eyes. “Well, if you still don’t want him…”

Kisame instinctively takes a step to the side, putting himself between Zabuza and Konan. It’s a pretty picture, what she’s implying, but at the same time Kisame can hardly breathe through the haze of furious denial that surges.

“Weren’t you planning to go harass Obito?” he asks petulantly, and it’s—well. Mostly calculated. Obito will forgive him. eventually. Probably. It’s not as if any of their other plans are holding together at this point, anyway.

Konan's gaze sharpens. “Obito,” she repeats, like a tigress snatching up a wounded deer.

Interest narrows Kakuzu’s eyes as well, but he snorts, giving Kisame a pointed look. “We’ll be back in the morning,” he says. “Six inches of space between you at all times, or we’re going to have to hold a wedding at kunai-point.”

Konan laughs, muffled behind one hand, and Kisame scowls at them both. “You're not—” he starts.

Before he can finish, Konan hooks her arm through Kakuzu’s, pulling him towards the door. “Are you staying to chaperone?” she asks Haku, mild as a summer sky.

Haku giggles, gives Kisame a delighted wave, and gets the door for them, pulling his hood back up. “I’ll see if Baichō needs help in the bar,” he says. “She lets me work in return for a room.”

“You're a traitor,” Zabuza says, but he sounds amused, and Haku smiles brightly at him before he closes the door with a deliberate click.

Alone in the room. It’s definitely an improvement, but Kisame's cheeks are burning, and he rubs at the bridge of his nose, a little sheepish. Looks at Zabuza to find him looking back, something soft on his face.

“New team?” he asks, tilting his head.

Kisame breathes out a chuckle. “I guess,” he says, because they weren’t _really_ a team before this, not in any way that really mattered. Apparently, though, Konan and Kakuzu jumping on the opportunity to rag at him is enough to make them closer, and thoughts of murder aside, Kisame can't entirely bring himself to mind. Not really.

With a snort, Zabuza steps around Kisame, crossing to the door. He’s limping a little, just enough for Kisame to catch it, but he still moves fluidly. Has incorporated it into his motions, using it instead of letting it hinder him. And—that’s Zabuza with everything, Kisame thinks. Adapt and survive, no matter what.

For all that he’s from the lowest parts of Kiri's society, the undesired and reviled, the child of former enemies dragged back to Kiri in the wake of Uzushio’s fall, Zabuza still manages to be everything a Kiri nin should be. It’s admirable.

The thud of the lock sliding home makes him take a step forward, then another. Zabuza turns to meet him, and Kisame pauses there, looking at him across the handful of inches separating them. _I thought you were dead_, he wants to say. Or maybe _I missed you_.

“Throwing yourself at me, huh?” is what he manages instead, and if his chuckle is all nerves, he thinks he can be forgive. Like in the folk tales, this feels like the moment of the dream, half an instant before a mistake snatches it all away like an illusion finally broken. “That must have been the subtlest throwing I've ever seen, brat.”

“You fucker, I was a Swordsman longer than you,” Zabuza bitches, but he doesn’t make any move to shift away. Just watches Kisame, a little wary, a little defensive. “Maybe you're just not as observant as you think you are, idiot.”

Kisame breathes in. Tries to think of something to say, some bit of joking to turn things back around, but what comes out is far closer to the truth than he intends.

“Maybe,” he says roughly, “I wanted something too much to believe I could have it.”

Zabuza’s expression twists, and he looks like he doesn’t know whether to yell or cry. “You _idiot_,” he snarls. “You already have it. You’ve _always_ had it.”

Kisame's next breath tangles in his chest, and he steps forward, shoves Zabuza back against the door and catches his face in his hands. Tilts his head up, but it’s Zabuza who closes the gap, who digs his fingers into Kisame's hair and drags his mouth down, kisses him so hard it’s bruising. Kisame kisses back with equal fervor, _you're alive you're alive you're alive _beating a tattoo in his blood.

There's a wound deep in Kisame's chest that’s been bleeding for years, but this—

This might just be enough to let it scab over and start to heal.


End file.
